I found Krakow’s version of the Wolfchase Galleria yesterday: the “Galleria Kazmiersz”. I promptly made my way to “Cinema City”, the 10-screen movie theater where I saw one piece of crap and one pretty good movie. The pretty good one stars the DJ Jazzy Prince of Bel-Air, and was very funny, sweet, and in English (with Polish subtitles). The crappy one was in English too, but I wish it had been in Polish.

The subtitles were kind of cool. I had not considered that subtitles translate not only words, but concepts. For example, at one point someone mentioned a temperature drop of 5 degrees, but in the subtitles it was changed to 3 degrees, because of the difference between Fahrenheit and Celcius. There was also a mention of 15 pounds that was changed to the corresponding amount in kilograms. I kept waiting for someone to say “Quarter Pounder” so I could find out the Polish words for “Royale wit’ cheese”.

One other interesting thing about movies: they have assigned seating. When you buy your ticket, they have you point to the seat you want on the cash register screen, and your ticket has your seat assignment printed on it. This was irritating at first, because I don’t know the polish words for “row” or “seat”, and was worried that I would have no idea how to find it. But they were very clearly marked in the theater and it was no problem at all. This system should be incorporated in the U.S.; it would eliminate the hassle of trying to find 4 seats together when you arrive during the previews. You will know when you buy the ticket whether or not there are 4 together, and you won’t have to look like a buffoon wandering around a dark theater looking for seats.

Now for the down side of the movie experience. Despite the 4-foot high pictures of the concessions showing the candy bars, popcorn, and most notably the giant Coke with a bunch of ice cubes poking out over the rim of the cup, I got the “what are you talking about” look from the girl at the register when I asked for ice in the vat of room-temperature Coke that she gave me. When she figured out what I was asking for, she said “No, we don’t have ice.” I pointed to the giant sign featuring the beautiful icy Coke, and she just shrugged her shoulders and went about her business. Seriously, people, how in the world can you drink 32 (meters? kilograms? whatever) of room-temperature Coke and not get heartburn?

I can not wait to get home.